


Will You Think Of Me Among The Stars?

by two_drama_nerds_in_a_boat



Series: Star Trek Bingo 2020 [2]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/F, Mutual Pining, Prompt Fill - Bathing/Swimming, Shore Leave, Standard Shenanigans From Crewmembers, Star Trek Bingo 2020, Swimming, Vulcan Culture, lots of pining, so yeah be prepared for that I guess, there is Longing and Looking and Talking About Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25521712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/two_drama_nerds_in_a_boat/pseuds/two_drama_nerds_in_a_boat
Summary: Vulcan has no moon, so there are no tides. Of course, there is still water, on Vulcan - oceans and lakes and rivers and streams - but for the most part, they are unmoving. Undisturbed. Serene, if in an unsettling way. But this does not stop the crew from going swimming.(Prompt Fill - Bathing/Swimming)
Relationships: T'Pring/Nyota Uhura
Series: Star Trek Bingo 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848919
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21
Collections: Star Trek Bingo Summer 2020





	Will You Think Of Me Among The Stars?

**Author's Note:**

> this entire fic is JUST pining and y'all are going to have to respect that. i wrote and i wrote and this is where the words got me.

Vulcan has no moon, so there are no tides. Of course, there is still water, on Vulcan - oceans and lakes and rivers and streams - but for the most part, they are unmoving. Undisturbed. Serene, if in an unsettling way. But this does not stop the crew from going swimming.

It may seem an odd place to take shore leave, with no night life or brothels to keep them entertained, but the Enterprise is going to be docked here for a few days, nonetheless. It seems that the Captain and Mister Spock have gotten themselves into yet another predicament; Something about Jim and Spock fighting in the sands of Vulcan, and then accidentally bonding in the sands of Vulcan, and now (if the rumors are true) marrying in the sands of Vulcan. So the crew has been allowed to enjoy some shore leave while the wedding ceremony takes place. It is an intimate thing, apparently - just the two bondmates, and blood relations, and close close close friends - so the crew isn’t really meant to be there, anyway.

So they decided to go swimming.

Just a small group of them - it as Hikaru’s idea, initially, and then Pavel supported it with ore enthusiasm than he had when talking about the Russian origin of various things (which really is saying something), and they shared their thoughts with the rest of the bridge crew and a few others, and now here they are. Nyota isn’t sure the name of the lake they’re visiting, though she thinks she ought to know it. She is a xenolinguistics expert, after all. This is meant to fall under her area of expertise, isn’t it? It’s Vulcan, so really, it shouldn’t even be that hard to figure out - they name things logically. ShiKahr just means The Place of The City. Maybe this lake is just, Swimming Place, or Pool of Water, or Lake Area.

She shakes her head, chiding herself for thinking about work during shore leave. She knows that the others will be after her, if she tells them about it. This supposed to be relaxing. A vacation.

She’s sitting on the shore in her bathing suit, a few other crew members sunning themselves around her, others already swimming in the lake. Scotty seems to have started construction on an intricate sandcastle complex with a few others from engineering, and she can see Hikaru and Pavel in the water, organizing a game of Marco Polo in the nearby shallows.

  
  
“You know of Marco Polo, Pavel?” Asks Hikaru, surprise and amusement leaking into his words.

  
  
“Of course, Hikaru,” he says. “It vas inwented in Russia!”

  
  
Lieutenant Kyle makes a face at this, and Nyota has to hold back a laugh.

It feels like forever since their last shore leave. Now, it feels refreshing to be on the ground, without the threat of war or death or kidnappings or sentient plants or rocks or who-knows-what-else trying to kill them. Sure, Vulcan isn’t ideal - the climate’s too hot to be comfortable for most of their Human crew members (who make up a majority of the 400 on board), and there’s nothing extraordinary to keep them entertained here. But it’s quiet. It’s peaceful.

She faintly remembers the odd wish-granting planet they tried to beam down to the last time they decided to take some time off, and images of rabbits and little blonde girls and samurai and false-McCoys dance around in her head. McCoy’s not with them, even now. He’s off at the wedding, if she’s got her facts right, falling enough under the ‘close close close friends’ category that he’s allowed to go.

Nyota takes a deep breath. Clears her head of thoughts. Spock taught her how to do this, when they were stuck out somewhere in deep space with the threat of impending disaster hanging over their heads (something that happened surprisingly often, for a ship that was meant to be a simple scientific research vessel, nothing more). Nyota had scolded him at the time, told him it wasn’t wise to go about giving away Vulcan mindfulness secrets. She’d been surprised to learn it was his mother who taught it to him.

“Nyota Uhura,” says a voice from above her.

She looks up.

And then, she has to remind herself to breathe again.

Because there’s the Vulcan woman, the one who hailed them on the bridge the other day.

Well. Hailed _Spock_ on the bridge the other day, because she and Spock had been engaged. Not that they are anymore, if Jim and Spock’s wedding is indeed going well.

“Oh, hello,” says Nyota, in Standard. She should be speaking Vulcan, she took dozens of classes on it at the Academy. It’s her job. But she’s a bit too nervous for that, right now. “Good afternoon…?”

  
  
She finds herself trailing off, realizing she doesn’t know the woman’s name. Had Spock even said it, on the bridge? She’s sure she would have remembered it if he’d said it. But then again, she finds herself thrown off guard every time she’s seen this woman, so far.

“I am T’Pring,” says the woman, as if reading her mind.

“Oh,” Nyota sighs, “of course.”

  
  
“I was Spock’s intended, as I assume you know.”

Vulcans have never been the sort to skirt around the subject. “Yes. And I am Nyota Uhura, the Communications Officer of the Starship Enterprise.”

  
  
Unsure of what to do, she finds herself offering the ta’al, and is grateful when T’Pring returns it.

Nyota isn’t sure what to think of this. The woman - T’Pring - well, she’s incredibly intense. That was one of the first things Nyota noticed when she saw her, in that blown-up image on the view screen. She’s sure everyone else noticed it, too, based on the shocked air of silence that had covered the room at the time. Even now, her colleagues have quieted, stopping and staring at the only Vulcan in their presence. Nyota realizes that T’Pring’s hair is down out of the traditional hairstyle she’d seen her in before, and her outfit appears more casual, too. Either way, she’s stunning. If Nyota had found her breathtaking from her holo on the bridge, she isn’t sure how she’s still breathing now. She’s sure she’s seconds away from collapse due to a lack of airflow to her lungs.

She realizes, for a moment, that T’Pring has been trying to get her attention. She looks up.

  
  
“I’m… sorry,” Nyota says, quietly. “I missed that. Would you mind repeating it?”

  
  
T’Pring’s lips quirk up ever so slightly at one end - a gesture Nyota has come to recognize as a Vulcan’s version of a smile.

“Did you intend to imply attraction, based on yesterday’s statement?” Asks T’Pring.

She nearly jumps at the question. “What?”

“When I hailed the bridge of your starship,” says T’Pring, “you stated that I was aesthetically pleasing. I understand that homosexuality is not uncommon among Humans, however I also understand the Human female’s need to give out appearance-based compliments. I simply wish to understand which meaning you intended to relate to me.”

Nyota blinks. It takes her a moment to take it all in. T’Pring speaks much faster than Spock, and with a fiercer look in her eyes.

  
  
Still, she knows what T’Pring’s talking about. She remembers it exactly.

_“She’s lovely, Mr. Spock.”_

_  
  
_She hadn’t meant to say it out loud - it just slipped out, in the moment. Spock had been acting weird all day, and everyone was on edge, and she hadn’t been sleeping particularly well recently, and she’d just gone ahead and said it. And later, when no one had bothered to bring it up with her, she’d assumed no one had heard. Or cared.

“I assure you, I will take no offense either way,” T’Pring continues. “However, I would prefer if you could explain what you meant, as I am unfamiliar with the complexities of Human language and social interactions. I find that an explanation would be ignorer for a further understanding of both subjects. Your are a xenolinguistics expert; I assumed that you would not mind my asking.”

“I’m-” Nyota tells herself to breathe. She tells herself to focus, but it’s just so difficult, because T’Pring is standing right here, and she’s radiant, absolutely glowing, and she’s so much more ethereal in this light, on the sands of Vulcan, even when she’s not in the formal gown or makeup she was wearing for the bonding ceremony.

She realizes, suddenly, that T’Pring is looking at her.

Now, she’s not an expert in Vulcan looks - she may work with one, and she may be a master of xeno- _everything,_ because it’s her job, and she has to be. But that doesn’t mean she has every quirk of every species known to the Federation memorized.

And yet, there’s something in the way T’Pring’s looking at her.

Vulcan eyes are supposed to emotionless, but too often they’re prone to spilling secrets. When she first noticed this trait in Spock, she attributed it his half-Human heritage, and she’s sure many others have done the same. But she’s met more Vulcans now. Expanded her sample size. And she knows what emotion looks like, coming from them. No matter how suppressed.

There’s something in T’Pring’s eyes, now. A look that betrays a feeling. Some thing, some emotion, that she’s desperately trying to hide.

Nyota tells herself it can’t be love. _It_ _shouldn’t be love._

Curiosity makes sense. Confusion, too, or bewilderment. Maybe a bit of joy, though she’s found that Vulcans try to suppress joy the most.

No matter what, it’s definitely something - _not love, not love, not love, not for me -_ and she can’t deny that.

It’s there.

“Aren’t you engaged?” Asks Nyota. The words fall out of her mouth so suddenly, she nearly throws a hand over her lips to stop herself from saying anything else. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her today.

“To Stonn, yes.” T’Pring’s words are slow coming. “It is… logical.”

  
  
“And yet…”

  
  
“And yet, I pursue you. Yes.”

  
  
Nyota opens her mouth. And then closes it again. ‘Pursue’ is an interesting word. One that indicates… well, at the very least, _feelings._

_That isn’t very logical,_ she thinks, though she doesn’t say it out loud. Instead, she says, “Why?”

  
  
“I am… unsure. It is illogical, to some extent, though logic can be found in many a case one might assume to find only nonsense and chaos.”

  
  
“Do all Vulcans speak in riddles?”

  
  
T’Pring raises an eyebrow.

  
  
“…Sorry,” says Nyota, realizing that she’s most likely said something rather offensive. “I shouldn’t make generalizations.”

  
  
“It is fine,” she says. “I am aware of the Human tendency to make rash, sudden statements. You are rather emotional as a species; It is an occupational hazard.”

They sit in silence, like that. Nyota doesn’t know when T’Pring actually knelt down beside her, but that’s where she is, now. They watch the lake in front of them. It seems that Pavel’s just been tagged in Marco Polo, and if his groan is anything to go by, it’s not the first time.

“Do you swim?”

“I must ask you to repeat that, Lieutenant,” T’Pring says, slowly. “It did not register, the first time.”

She’s taking more time to think between her words; she feels different from the woman Nyota saw on the bridge. Nyota isn’t sure what to make of it.

“Do you swim?” Asks Nyota, again, unfazed by T’Pring’s request. She’s a communications officer. She gets it all the time. Right now, her eyes are locked on the water.

“Well,” says T’Pring, “it is only logical to exercise; this keeps the body fit in the case of combat, and has been shown to improve life expectancy. Swimming is seen as one of the most effective ways to keep the body in appropriate working order.”

  
  
“Is that a yes.”

  
  
She pauses. “I suppose.”

Still, neither of them make a move towards the lake.

“You didn’t come here just to interrogate me, did you?” Nyota teases. “You do intend to get into the water?”

When T’Pring gawks at her, Nyota finds herself giggling.

“I’m joking, T’Pring. Speaking hyperbolically. It’s a Human trait.”

“Yes… quite.”

Nyota reaches out for T’Pring’s hand, only to find the Vulcan jerk it away at the slightest bit of contact. She looks up, trying to figure out what she did wrong, when she sees T’Pring blushing. Suddenly, Nyota remembers all of her encounters with Spock, all of her lessons in xeno etiquette with other cultures.

Shit. _Vulcans have a thing about hands,_ she remembers, though it wasn’t taught to her in exactly those words.

_Something about hands… fingers brushing._

_That’s kissing,_ she realizes, and immediately moves both of her own hands so that they’re clasped behind her back. She tries to stop herself from blushing; she doesn’t know how she could have forgotten so quickly. She _works_ with a Vulcan, goddammit.

Neither speaking about the accidental brush of their fingers, they make their way to the lake, stepping slowly into the water. Nyota first, and then T’Pring follows. They’re further away from the rest of the group, now, though she can still hear her colleagues playing Marco Polo in the shallows. From the looks of it, Chekov’s just been tagged, and is floundering around in the water like a dead fish - possibly for comedic purposes, though it might just be that Chekov never learned how to swim. Either is possible. She makes a mental note to ask Jim about it later - though Chekov has a tendency to act like a little shit from time to time, they all love him, and she knows the Captain sees him like a son. She wants to make sure he _can_ swim, just in case it comes up in the future. 

“So,” says Nyota.

“You are beautiful,” T’Pring says, cutting her off before she can say anything else. “And you find me attractive. Yes?"

She doesn’t know what to say.

“Well?” Says T’Pring. “You seemed to believe as much, when I contacted you on the bridge. Have your thoughts changed?” T’Pring seems puzzled for the first time. “I am afraid I do not completely understand the intricacies of Human feelings, nor desires. If something is amiss, please, explain it to me, and I will make an attempt to change my behavior.”  
  
Nyota shakes her head. She finds herself focusing on the water. It’s warm, warmer than she would have expected, even if this is Vulcan, a planet known for it’s blazing sun and baking red sands. Spock is so often ready to remind the crew (specifically the Captain, when they’re having another of their on-bridge debates) that Vulcans are accustomed to much warmer temperatures that Humans. And yet, Nyota finds the warmth of the water odd. They’re standing in the shallows, so naturally this would be a warmer bit, the sun making the rocks the line the bottom fo the lake. They’re smooth under her bare feet.

  
  
“I’m just surprised,” she says, finally.

“Why?”

  
  
“Well…” Nyota shrugs. “I guess it’s just that I’m not used to being pursued like this.”

  
  
“By Vulcans?”

  
  
“Or women.”

  
  
“But you _are_ interested in women, yes?”

  
  
“Oh, rather exclusively,” she confirms. “But most people, Humans, especially, still seem to have a hard time understanding that.”

  
  
T’Pring nods, and Nyota wonders, for a moment, if that is something all Vulcans do, or if it is something they do in the presence of Humans because it is logical. She would ask Spock, of course, but he’s a bit… busy, at the moment.

She wonders, once more, what exactly he and the Captain are up to.

“And you?” Says Nyota, attempting to carry on the conversation.

“I find myself more often than not attracted to women,” she says. “However, it is not always logical to pursue such feelings.”

  
  
“How so?"

T’Pring waves her hand in an almost dismissive gesture. “As a woman of high rank, I am expected to bear heirs to my House. To do so, I am expected to marry, preferably to someone of equal or greater wealth and status.”

“Spock is from a great House, isn’t he?”

  
  
“Yes.”

  
  
“Then why did you invoke the right of Koon-ut-kal-if-fee?

“I saw the way he looked at the Captain,” T’Pring explained. “Even before he beamed down to meet me, I had heard the stories. When I saw it for myself, I knew for fact that the odds of us successfully bonding were less than .63%, and that to challenge Spock to koon-ut-kal-if-fee would result in his bonding to the Captain, and my bonding to Stonn. Stonn, though not of as great wealth or status as Spock, is still undoubtedly a worthy mate. He will assist me in all the ways I need.”

“But he doesn’t make you happy,” says Nyota. It wasn’t a question.

T’Pring says nothing.

“Wouldn’t it be more… logical to live a life you’re happy with?”

  
  
“Happiness is an emotion, Lieutenant.”

“But you have not purged yourself of such things.”

“No,” she says, almost warily. “Not yet.”

  
  
“You’re expected to.”

  
  
“Most Vulcans are, unless they find a logical reason to be exempt.”

_Like Mr. Spock has found the Captain._

“I see.”

  
  
The water very suddenly feels cold.

They swim for a while longer, in silence - though this really just means that Nyota is doing the swimming, and T'Pring is standing in the water, barely even wading. Just waiting. And eventually, at one point or another, they leave the water, though Nyota doesn't remember it well. The others around them are packing up, too, grabbing their bags and the things they brought with them on leave. Nyota wraps herself up in a towel, and offers one to T'Pring, who accepts with what passes as gratitude on Vulcan. The walk to where they are staying for the night is long and cold. 

T'Pring walks her to the door, promising to see her again soon. Nyota knows that Vulcans do not lie; but whether or not they are able to keep their promises is never entirely up to them. 

Mister Spock and the Captain have returned, alive and well (though Jim looks a bit beat-up - they don't ask him what happened) if a bit sheepish and quieter than usual. The Captain tells them this is their last night of leave, as he and the Science Officer and back and once again able to perform in the line of duty. This announcement is greeted with cheers and groans alike, though many of the folks from Security look delighted to be back in space - they have a bad record of losing crew members to strange new worlds.

The next morning is a blur of packing things and saying goodbyes, neither of which she's ever been particularly good at. 

Nyota doesn't know what to do. Nothing is finished. Nothing is left clean-cut or wrapped up. She doesn't understand the nature of T'Pring's conversation with her the other day, not yet, no matter how desperately she wants to. They were supposed to have more time. She felt as though there was something there, something happening, and now she's being torn away from it. She never gets to finish anything. Why can't she just have this?

“I believe this is 'goodbye', to use the Terran terms,” T’Pring says.

“Yes,” says Nyota.

“I do not wish to see you leave, though I understand why you must.”

  
  
“Perhaps we can find each other,” Nyota says. “When all of this is over.”

  
  
“And will you wait for me?”

  
  
She thinks about this. “Will you?”

They look at each other, silence between them for just a moment, just a second. And then that moment passes, and it’s over, and it’s gone.

Nyota is the one who raises the ta’al first. “Live long and prosper,” she says.

“Peace,” replies T’Pring, holding up her hand in return, “and a long life.” 

Nyota turns to get on the shuttle.

“We will meet again someday.” T’Pring’s voice calls from behind her. “Will you think of me, among the stars?”

**Author's Note:**

> :)


End file.
